


Cookies

by LureSanta



Category: As the World Turns
Genre: Christmas, Domestic, Lure Santa Exchang 2010, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-21
Updated: 2010-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-13 22:54:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/142620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LureSanta/pseuds/LureSanta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gift for Neverwiser, createed by pbghgirl - Posted December 21</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cookies

I take a deep breath and fill my lungs with the scent of Christmas. Pine. Cinnamon. I feel myself smile, It’s one of those involuntary smiles that just happen, complete with dimples that I kind of hate because make me look about six.

It’s our first Christmas together - just us, living together (finally!) in my grandmother’s guest house, doing all the Christmasy things I thought that I would do with him. But, now, its you, and I’m so amazed and awed at how the universe just seems to know what I really need.

I hear your car door , and my heart starts to pound. It’s always like this - even after two months of sleeping in the same bed every night. I see you (or hear your voice), and I can’t breathe. But today is extra special. We’re finally going to celebrate something important together.

For a few very dark days in September, I didn’t think we had a future. After your accident, I sat by your bed and held your hand and cried and prayed and promised God that I’d do anything – anything – if you would just live. I thought of all the time I wasted - the time I stole from us pining over him when I should have been enjoying you. We could have been laughing and and playing chess and making sandwiches and swimming in Gramma Emma’s pond, and just enjoying those last mellow weeks of summer. And, yeah, having sex – lots of sex.

But, then you woke up.

I was the first person to see those cerulean eyes come back to life. Bob told me there was hope. The train had managed to slow down, and the impact was not as bad as it could have been. He was right. You’re alive and all mine. We finally get to do all that romantic stuff couples are supposed to do - that I’ve always wanted to do- without restrictions or constraints or drama.

You burst through the door almost tearing it off its hinges, but that’s nothing new. There’s always a subtle undercurrent of pent up aggression about you when you come home from the hospital, like the responsibility for so many lives is bursting through your skin.

“Hey,” I say, and suddenly, I feel a little shy and unsure. You are still in your scrubs, their navy blue darkening your eyes. Even when I was still with him, I was turned on by you in those scrubs. Now, it’s a personal fetish.

“Luke.” You walk over to where I’m standing, next to the enormous pine tree, still damp, freshly cut from Gramma Emma’s woods. You lean over to kiss me, ignoring the tree. You eyes are clear and blue and remind me of the Midwestern sky in August. They’re also red and ringed by subtle circles. But, your lips are warm and soft ,and I fall into the kiss, forgetting about the tree and the cookies in the oven and…everything.

 

You deepen the kiss, and I just feel … inhaled. You run your hands under the bottom of my sweater, making contact with my bare skin, soft and warm, making me tingle. You pull back slightly, resting your forehead on mine. “Come to bed with me?” you ask. It’s question and a plea.

I feel a familiar pull in my stomach. When you say things like that I forget my own name. But then, I remember the tree and the cookies. This isn’t the way it’s supposed to happen. “Bed” is supposed to happen later – after the tree and the cookies and the hot chocolate and a fire. After you kiss me under the mistletoe and tell me how much you love me.

I pull back, out of your embrace, feeling a little annoyed. You haven’t noticed anything. Not the tree in the corner, standing well over seven feet, as conspicuous as possible. Not the perfume of cinnamon in the air from the cookies that I had been baking for the last two hours. Not the garland made from pine clippings, wound into thick ropes (with the help of Faith and Natalie) and hung from the moulding. Not the mistletoe over the archway between the kitchen and living room.

Mistletoe and I have quite a history. Before you, the thought of mistletoe always made me sad. But now you’re here. When I was hanging it, I envisioned you grabbing me and pulling me under it and kissing me passionately. Nobody to interrupt, no doubt, no hesitations.

But you notice none of this. You had a rough day. You probably were in surgery for fifteen hours. You just want eat, to lose yourself in my body, and sleep. But it’s not fair. All those romantic holiday things I’ve dreamed about for years must count for something.

You tense as I pull back. Your hands are still on my waist but there is space between us now. You make eye contact and your mouth pulls into the trademark Reid Oliver smirk. “What‘s wrong? “

I take a step back, dislodging your hands. “Reid. I spent all day getting this place ready for Christmas. I wanted us to have a special evening.” I gesture toward the tree, feeling a little petulant. “Jack and my dad helped me cut this down and bring it here. I thought we could maybe trim it. Tonight.”

You sigh, rolling your eyes. “Luke. I’ve just been in fucking surgery attempting to repair an aneurysm for twelve fucking hours. I can’t deal with all this sappy Christmas crap right now. I need to eat, fuck, and sleep - in that order. Then, I might feel up to playing holiday Ken.”

I take another step back almost bumping into the tree. I’m suddenly cold. I wrap my arms around my middle. Tears sting the back of my eyes. You always say I’m too emotional. I cry too easily. Maybe you’re right because I feel like crying now. “Okay, I guess I’ll trim it alone. You go eat then go to bed and you know what, Reid? You can go fuck yourself!”

To my surprise, a smile spreads across your face. It doesn’t quite meet your eyes though . “Mr. Snyder ,“ you say, taking a step toward me. You always call me that when we fight because you know I hate it. “what’s got you so pissy today? Hmmm…This?” you gesture to the tree, the garland, the mistletoe, “ All this stuff is that important to you? It’s a bunch of sentimental Dickensian garbage designed to make Midwesterners forget how badly winter really sucks and to make everyone happy enough to hand their pay over to Sam Walton’s minions for the next three months.”

 

My face gets hot, and I know I’m about to cry. Sometimes, I like when you are jaded. But not now. I swallow, and my throat feels tight. You take another step closer, and I’m pinned between you and the tree. I refuse to cry in front of you over this. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. You were supposed to grab me and kiss me under the mistletoe and tell me that you were “so in love with me.” Then, we would eat cookies and trim the tree and drink warm cocoa with marshmallows. Afterward, we would be in our own house - with no grandmothers, or parents, or relationship drama. Then, we could fall into bed and have sweet, hot, crazy sex all night if we wanted.

“ Dammit Reid!” It’s all I can manage to get out.

You reach up and touch my cheek with the tips of those long elegant fingers. Your amazing eyes, dulled a little by exhaustion and annoyance, search my face. “What’s this really about, Luke?” You voice is softened now. You must have seen the unshed tears in my eyes.

I look up at the ceiling willing the tears to stay put. Its not working , so I wipe at my eyes with the heal of my hand. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.” My voice is a whisper.

“Like what? Like me wanting to eat and have sex and sleep awhile before playing The Waltons with you? After 12 fucking hours of surgery? Really?” Your words are harsh but your caress against my check is a gentle counterbalance.

“Luke, you know who I am, right? We discussed this all a long time ago.”

“Doing this traditional Christmas stuff with you, it’s really important to me.” I swallow and feel a tear drip out the corner of my left eye. Damn, I know you hate it when I “leak tears,“ but I have to continue talking. I’ll probably cry some more before this is done.

I take a deep breath and start again, “at Christmas, all my life , I watched all of these couples, my mom and dad, Carly and Jack, Katie and Brad, even Gwen and Will, celebrate holidays together. It seemed so romantic. When I first realized I was gay, I thought I would never have that. You know, that normal romantic couple kind of relationship ------“

“Luke, a relationship is not about holidays. If it is, I’m kinda screwed because I don’t do that sappy romantic stuff. You know that.”

I hold up a hand. “Let me finish….When I was with, “ I hesitate because I know I’m not supposed to say his name anymore. Part of me wants to see your reaction, to hurt you a little, so I continue, “Noah.” You take one step back , letting go of me , and you cross your arms. I can see the muscle in your jaw clench.

“Noah Fucking Mayer! Seriously? We’re back to that? Mr. Snyder, remember when I almost fucking died three months ago. From your own account, while I was laying in Memorial resisiting the lure of the grim reaper, you had an epiphany that I was the ‘one’ and all this Noah bullshit was over. “ You pivot, turning your back to me and running your fingers through your hair.

I take a few steps forward until my chest almost presses against your back. I was right. His name did hurt you . I feel a little guilty. You can put up such a good front but you’re so easily wounded. I reach out and place my hands on your shoulders. “Reid,” my voice cracks a little because I’m still crying a little - out of guilt and out of anger. “I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t talk about Noah but Christmas brings back a lot of memories. Some of them make me really sad.”

I feel the muscles in your back relax but you still won’t face me. It’s probably good that you can’t see me because tears are running down my face. You nod your head slightly and scrub your hand over your eyes. “ Okay, let’s hear it - this blast from past that made you go all Grimaldi on me.” The familiar sarcasm in your voice sounds strained.

I wrap my arms around your middle and crouch slightly to lean my head on your shoulder. “The first Christmas he and I celebrated together was right after I started to walk again after my paralysis.” I feel you tense. The thought of me being shot is always affects you this way. With my left hand, I slowly rub circles on your back.

“I don’t like hearing about your incident with the Colonel anymore than I like hearing his son’s name, “ you say, pressing backward slightly into my touch.

“I know, Reid. I hate thinking about you being in the train accident. It makes me feel physically sick. But that’s not the point of what I was saying.” I pause trying to word things so you’ll understand, “Anyway, I was finally walking and getting better. He was staying at the farm with us for the holidays. I remember thinking,’ finally!’ I thought I would have someone to be with over the holiday. To do all that stuff with. But Noah, “ I hestate, realizing I said his name again. “Damn!”

You sigh, “its okay, Luke. Just go on. “ Luke, Not Mr. Snyder. You turn and look at me. Your eyes still glow with blue light but there is a weariness there. It pierces me. You really are so much more vulnerable than anyone knows. You wrap your arms around my waist again.

“He loved me, in his own way, but he was still pretty uncomfortable with our relationship – at least the romantic part of it. Anyway, that Christmas, like every Christmas, Gramma Emma and my dad decorated the house and hung garland and cut down a huge tree and we all decorated it. Life on the farm is very ‘Midwestern storybook Christmas’ - if you know what I mean ---“

Finally you smile – a genuine one this time. Your eyes light up and my stomach does a somersault. That sexy smile almost makes me question my decision not to just ‘come to bed’ with you.

“Luke, I’ve been to the farm. I know. It’s veritable orgy of Americana. I can only imagine the spectacle that is Christmas on the Snyder Farm.”

I smile and lean into you a little more,needing your warmth. “ Well you’ll find out this year. But, yeah, I guess you get the picture. So the last thing Gramma Emma does is hang a big sprig of fresh mistletoe from the archway over the shelf where she keeps her jars of canned stuff. “

“I know where you mean. There are cookies in there too.” You grin like a ten year old at the thought of cookies and my heart breaks for putting you through this. Maybe I’m being a little bratty, a little Grimaldi-esque as you would say.

“So what happened with the mistletoe? I’m feeling a Noah Fucking Mayer moment about to happen.”

“It’s not like that. It’s really not his fault. He’s kinda messed up from his childhood. “ You smirk at that comment, and I know you’re not buying it. “ Anyway, I really, really wanted to kiss him under it. We sat out on the porch til everyone went to bed. He gave me this card that, for about five minutes, seemed like this big declaration of love but really wasn’t. It was almost something you could give your best friend. So… are you sure you’re okay hearing this? It might be TMI.”

You softly press your lips to mine. The kiss is dry and chaste. “I can stand it – barely, but I’ll live. Unless you’re going to go into ‘Dear Penthouse Letters’ territory. That I don’t think I could deal with. “

A little bubble of laughter rises in my throat. “Nope. No letters to Penthouse – although, I've always wondered. How does that work when you’re gay? You can’t send them to Penthouse. Is there somewhere else gays send letters to confess that they were jumped by a hot guy in the vegetable isle at Kroger?”

You tilt your head back and laugh. Your tired eyes sparkle, and those gorgeous lips spread into a wide, delicious grin. Again, I start to rethink this ‘ come to bed’ thing. You and me naked in a warm bed might not be the worst idea in the world after all.

I continue, trying to put the whole bed option out of my mind. “Anyway, we go inside . It’s dark except for the tree lights and some other lights that my dad strung around. Everyone’s upstairs. I’m thinking this is going to be the most perfect, most romantic moment of my life. So, we end up standing under the mistletoe, and I decide this is it. So I babble for awhile about all the things I feel about Noah – sorry," I wince, but you nod for me to continue, “and I end with this big declaration of love. I tell him he doesn’t have to say it back, mostly because I know he won’t. And he says something like ‘same here.’”

Your arms pull me closer so that our bodies are flush. You run your fingers through my hair. “Wow! Mayer is a bigger idiot than I thought.”

“No, Reid, I expected too much from him. He still wasn’t even comfortable being gay. I seriously don’t even know if he’s still completely okay with it actually. Although, it might be easier now that he’s in L.A.” I lean my head into your touch. Your fingers make my scalp tingle.

“So what happened? Did a hot teen make-out session ensue?

“Not exactly, We kissed for like two seconds and my dad came down and turned the light on and told us to go to bed. Emma had these rules that unmarried people couldn’t stay together. No fornication at the farm – although Meg and my parents broke that rule lots of times. Looking back, I think Noah was relieved by the rule because it gave us an excuse to take things really slow.” I lay my head on your shoulder and breathe in your familiar scent – a combination of fabric softener, hand sanitizer, and just you. Somehow, being close to you, holding you like this, takes the sting out of the memory. Before you, it used to replay in color with Dolby surround. Now, it’s bad quality black and white with mono.

“Reid,” my voice is a whisper, “he never wanted me like I wanted him – not then and not later. That Christmas was just the beginning.”

It’s the first time I ever said that out loud. All along, I’ve felt it but I never said it. It doesn’t hurt as bad as I thought it would.

I hold my breath, waiting for you to say something. You reach down and take my hand and silently lead me to the couch. You sit heavily and pull me down next to you, tucking me into the crook of your arm with my head resting on you shoulder. You sigh and wrap your arm around me to pull me tight against your chest. I can hear your heart.

 

“Luke, “ your voice is soft, “I said it before and I’ll say it again. Mayer’s a moron. All that stuff was about him – not about you.”

I reach up and put my hand on your chest and feel your warmth through the starchy fabric of your scrubs. “I know that. I really do but…” I lose my train of thought as your other hand rubs slow circles on my denim covered thigh. I love that your touch is so casual and natural. I tilt my head slightly and peek up at you before starting again, “Anyway, that night, in my bed, I pictured what I wished had happened.”

You look down, meeting my eyes. “Tell me, Luke. What did you picture?”

“Well, are you sure you want to hear this? I mean, it involves my feelings about Noah? ”

You nod and kiss my forehead. “ Why not? I haven’t had my quota of Mayer -esque nostalgia for the day. As long as there isn’t any Mayer-centric auto-eroticism included. I mean you were, what, sixteen, so there had to have been masturbatory fantasies at some point. Especially since Mayer was such a prude, and I, personally, can attest to the fact that there’s an inner slut lurking behind those dimples.”

I kind of love it when you’re an ass. “Reid, we were in college. And, it wasn’t sexual stuff I was picturing. Not that night. Other nights, maybe - since I’m such a slut and all.” I feel a little pinch on my arm.

“Ouch! That hurt!”

“You deserved it. But I made you smile, huh?”

I poke my index finger into your chest my grin widens. “Yeah you’re so freakin funny….but anyway, STFU if you wanna here this.”

“I’m all ears.”

“So I’m laying up there, in my room, thinking about what I said. It was something like ‘I love you. I’m so in love with you.’ I imagined him pulling me into him and kissing me really passionately. Ya know, like on movies. Like really sexy, but also desperate. Up to that point, we had only kissed a couple of times, and it was pretty tentative. And before Noah, I had never kissed any guy. ”

I stop talking and toy with the front of my hair waiting for a snide comment. Nothing. I look up and you’re still staring at me. Your expression is blank, unreadable. I inhale and keep going.

“So anyway, in my mind, he would pull back and tell me how he was so deeply, totally in love with me . And how I was the ‘one’ for him. What I really wanted was to be under that mistletoe at the farm and and have someone tell me that they wanted me and loved me - to be the object of the kind of passion I saw in every other relationship around me. Well that and to be, ya know, ” I break off suddenly, feeling shy.

“To be what, Luke?”

“Um well, wanted sexually too, I guess. Like have someone be so in love with me that they just wanted to tear my clothes off. I know that sounds dumb but, yeah, that’s what I wanted. You have to realize that Noah was the first guy who showed any interest in me. My whole life, I saw all these other couples, even my mom and dad, so passionately in love. I wanted that for myself but doubted it would ever happen.”

“You were a sad, sad boy, Luke. I had no idea.” A chuckle erupts from your throat. “No wonder you fell in love with the first piece of closet case eye candy to show up in Oakdale.”

“Noah and I really did get along and have fun. We still do. I just realize now it’s more like best friends. I just…I don’t know. I still want that. I want the fantasy - just not with Noah anymore.”

I sit up, looking at you eye to eye . Our faces are only inches apart. Your eyes are searching my face, following the path of your hand as it traces my cheekbone. You press another soft, dry kiss to my lips and pull back, staring into my eyes. You run the pad of your thumb over my bottom lip as you talk.

“Luke, life with me is not going to be a romantic comedy. I’m not that guy. I work hard. I fuck hard. I’m pretty compulsive, in case you haven’t noticed. I can be kind of a prick. You probably noticed that too.” You pause and your mouth quirks up on one side. “I don’t know how to do fantasy romance.”

You lean in and kiss me again. This time its deeper, wetter, hotter. I feel your tongue in my mouth and taste sweetness and mint. Our bodies line up, and I’m being pressed back into the couch under the weight of you.

You slowly break the kiss and cradle my face in those magnificent, graceful hands. I want to speak but I can’t find my voice. My heart is pounding. My skin feels hot and too tight. I don’t want to stop. I reach up to pull you into another kiss. You stop me with your hands and press your forehead to mine. Your breath is soft on my face.

“Wait, Luke. Just...wait.” You close your eyes, and I see you swallow.

You disentangle yourself and stand up. I’m left laying on the couch staring up at you in those sexy-as-hell scrubs with your messed up hair. I don’t want to wait. I want you to lay back down with me. I reach for you. You take my hand and pull hard, making me sit up.

“Come here,” you smile, that small, secret half smile that makes my stomach clench.

You lead me, by the hand, to the archway between the kitchen and the living room. You turn me to face you and point up. The mistletoe. I had actually forgotten. At some point, I stopped caring about mistletoe or the tree or the cookies.

“Reid, its okay. Its –“

You place two fingers over my lips, stopping my words. “Luke Snyder,” your eyes bore into mine, so blue, so hot, that I almost can’t take it, “I really, truly am not that guy. I hate sentimentality and romance. But I’m not Mayer either and," your hands tighten in my arms." I am so, so, so fucking in love with you. And you are the ‘one.’ And that has nothing to do with mistletoe or pine trees or any of that other crap. It is what it is - Christmas or any other day of the year.”

 

You wrap those sinewy arms around my waist and jerk me closer. It’s a little rough but I like it. You smile and lean in. The kiss is soft for about two seconds then it explodes. Hot, wet, deep. Tongues and teeth and grinding bodies and searching hands. I hear a moan. Is it me or you? I don’t know and can’t care.

You slide your tongue down my neck making me shiver. I feel your hot breath on my ear and hear your rough whisper, “Now I’m going to take you into that bedroom and tear your clothes off because I’m that fucking in love with you. And later... there will be cookies.


End file.
